


Blue Flag

by baku_midnight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mpreg, Werewolves, fairy!Cas/werewolf!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:44:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baku_midnight/pseuds/baku_midnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel’s heart bumps impatiently against his chest as he tries to relax, releasing a friendly pheromone. The wolves’ noses all pick up curiously with the smell but only the leader approaches, striding confidently over to Cas’ side, pressing his muzzle into Cas’s face and sniffing appraisingly. Then, as if liking the results of his evaluation, the wolf nuzzles happily under Cas’s chin.</p><p>“Dean,” Castiel whispers, raising a limp hand to stroke the back of it down the wolf’s neck, the glossy bristles of his mane falling flat under Cas’s hand. This is Dean. His love. Come to retrieve him.</p><p> </p><p>fairy!Castiel/werewolf!Dean</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Contains bestiality, to the extent that Castiel has sex in his human form with Dean in his wolf form. This story will be three parts, with mpreg in the second part.

He’s only there for a few minutes when the wolves come.

 

Reclined atop a pallet of Irish moss and baby’s tears, Castiel looks an absolute feast for predators that might enter the clearing, with crippled wings strung from branch to branch, his blood in golden-honey strings stretching from a tear in the webbing of one. There’s rumbling in the distance and an ominous crash; Castiel knows a wood nymph’s blood will attract predators even if the calamity of their recent airborne battle deterred them. Soon there’ll be lynx, orcs, beetles, hogs, and hounds in the misty clearing, trampling the mosses to mush, relentless and desperate in their pursuit of a spritely meal. Castiel will heal by tomorrow if left still, but he doesn’t think he can make it that long undisturbed. He’s so exhausted he can barely lift his arms, his body giving one last effort dedicated to disguising his scent – which is when the wolves find him.

 

A sentry at first, a proud, tall male with dark chocolate fur, long and thick around his neck like a mane. In his blurred vision Cas recognizes the creature: he knows this pack, the way they spread out and tenderly traipse the perimeter of the clearing, their formations mapped out in his head. They’re a small pack, only five or six wolves, Castiel’s battle-shaken mind supplies loosely; he can count two in front of him and four to his sides. Their silhouettes like black hoods crowd into the clearing, thick haunches and narrow ankles swishing through the small brush and grass, drawing apart to allow the leader through – and this wolf, Cas knows.

 

Castiel’s heart bumps impatiently against his chest as he tries to relax, releasing a friendly pheromone. The wolves’ noses all pick up curiously with the smell but only the leader approaches, striding confidently over to Cas’ side, pressing his muzzle into Cas’s face and sniffing appraisingly. Then, as if liking the results of his evaluation, the wolf nuzzles happily under Cas’s chin.

 

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, raising a limp hand to stroke the back of it down the wolf’s neck, the glossy bristles of his mane falling flat under Cas’s hand. This is Dean. His love. Come to retrieve him.

 

They’d met, and fallen in love, in their human forms, although Castiel was unashamed to admit his magic origin, telling Dean tales of his many brothers, shimmering wings ever trailing behind him as they walked together through the low brush. Dean on the other hand kept his true form secret, sheepishly shying away from talking about himself in favour of gushing on and on about his family, his Sam, and his adopted brothers and sisters.

 

They played chase games, Cas’s flight and Dean’s agility and sense of smell made them evenly matched as they ran and hid and found each other in the forest. Cas would bound to a low-limbed cedar and Dean would trace his scent until he came to the base of the tree, where Cas would leap down onto his back, and they would tumble and fall together, laughing and fighting. The frantic scramble of limbs would eventually slow into a tender embrace, laying with legs tangled under the glimmering canopy.

 

Then, one week, a couple of days before the full moon, Dean didn’t come. In his absence came a bright-eyed wolf with dusty golden fur, dark brows and pink pads of his feet. Castiel rose up in defense, drawing his short blade from his satchel, until the wolf dipped his head and Cas looked carefully. He stared in amazement as the creature circled close and nudged the front of Cas’s legs with the top of his head, a submissive gesture he showed none of his pack, and Cas knew then that Dean was just as much his as he was Dean’s. The wolf huffed at his feet, presenting himself, such as he was, to Castiel’s discretion, and the nymph sunk to one knee and kissed the wolf on the nose, and made a silent vow to love him in any and every form.

 

Castiel runs his fingers through Dean’s thick hair, finding stiff peaks of blood and fresh, slippery wounds – all for him to mend when he regains his strength. Dean’s muzzle nudges his chest, Castiel can feel the wet bulb of his nose sliding across his sternum, dipping under his arm. Dean’s hiding his face, ever ashamed of his beast form, though Castiel loves it just the same as he loves Dean. They snuggle that way for a moment, enjoying each other’s company until a warning huff from the sentry shakes them apart.

 

Sam tosses his head in the direction of a dark patch of forest. Enemies are approaching; the other wolves circle around the clearing protectively. Castiel lets Dean’s fur slip regretfully from his grasp and the alpha approaches Sam, who’s wearing a bundle over his broad back. Dean pulls at the bundle with his teeth, and Cas watches as they take opposite corners and unfurl the canvas stretcher next to him and urge Castiel into it.

 

The nymph is mostly helpless, though he can move his arms enough to drag himself into the stretcher, legs following limply after. He’s grateful for the support, reaching out to clutch at Sam’s withers and haul himself up onto the canvas. Kevin gingerly takes Castiel's wounded wing in his maw, tugging it from where it’s tangled on a branch, and Castiel pulls both wings into this lap, folding his hands over them. The two wolves slip the loops that make the handles over their necks, Dean takes the lead and they pull the injured party out of the clearing and to safety.

 

The journey to Dean’s pack’s camp isn’t without difficulty, the canvas pricking with every rock and jagged root it rolls over, so Castiel feels every jab through the canvas against his back. For his part, he sends out confounding scents to cover those of the small, stalwart pack to try and hide them from predators. Dean’s family are fighters, every one of them having experienced a kind of hardship and come out on the other side, but they are still vulnerable as one of the smallest packs in the woods.

 

Castiel ends up in Dean’s tent, his second home next to the forest skies, though steadily taking place as his first. He loves Dean and all his family, with all of his heart; after battles they always seem to find each other. Tangled in the forest undergrowth, wounded and chomping at the bit, they have to help each other come down, pull each other from the fire with settled hearts and calm blood.

 

The nymph lays spread across Dean’s furs on the floor of his tent, smooth, natural deer leather against his shoulders, an arm and a wing extended to the far wall. The stuffy-warm of the rainforest floor assists Castiel’s healing, the bunches of herbs stuffed under his pillow, provided by Charlie’s mate, a fellow forest sprite, sooth his heart with memories of the fairy realm. He drifts in and out of consciousness, breathing slow and hands limp.

 

Dean wanders into the tent after just an hour or so, the sun dipping low behind him where it appears in the gap of the doorframe before the fabric slaps closed. The alpha walks unhesitatingly into Cas’s space, climbing atop of him and settling his great forepaws under Cas’s arms and his head on Cas’s chest, snuggling down into what Castiel knows would be a hug were his lover in human form. He sighs and shifts his hips against Dean’s belly, and then realizes what’s making the wolf’s rump rock so fretfully.

 

He’s rutting; it makes sense, the betas’ heats come around this time of the month, and although it is his biological imperative to mate them, Dean refuses to be unfaithful, despite the strain it does on his alpha body. They haven’t been together for weeks now, separated by skirmishes across the forest, and Castiel wants to feel Dean’s skin on his just as much as he can tell Dean wants the same, panting and huffing through his excess heat, shyly hiding his nose in Castiel’s neck.

 

“It’s okay,” Castiel assures softly, pulling Dean’s face up to meet him. Green eyes blink nervously up at him, framed by golden-brown fur, flecked with white. His mate is beautiful, in any form – Castiel is certain he would love Dean just as much were he a meek bobcat or a cunning, sharp-tongued kelpie. He nudges Dean with his nose, feeling the wolf press eagerly back.

 

Castiel sighs as the wolf gently jostles his hips so they fit neatly against Cas’s, the warmth of his belly and sleekness of his fur pressing to Cas’s front. They’ve never made love with Dean in his wolf form, and Castiel thinks briefly on how he might look to outsiders with a huge dog mounting him, thrusting his heavy shaft between Castiel’s spread legs... the thought plants a spark of heat in his belly and he finds his hips rising up to meet Dean’s.

 

Castiel moans as a wet tongue dashes out slides across his throat, up to his jaw and the spot behind his ear that makes him shiver. The tongue moves smoothly in loops and curls, thoroughly laving Cas’s neck and ears, coating him with a sheen of saliva that cools with Dean’s breath. Castiel feels a shudder run up his body, gasping and arching as Dean’s tongue finds his nipple.

 

The nymph groans with desire, digging his fingers into Dean’s furry shoulders, while the wolf bathes his nipple. His tongue works the tiny bud to a swollen peak until Cas is panting, grateful for the break when Dean pulls away, though his respite is short-lived as Dean moves immediately to the other one.

 

“ _Ah…!_ ” Castiel gasps, voice melting into a low whimper. He’s exhausted, but Dean’s claiming alpha pheromones are filling up the tent, and as a wood nymph, attuned to all living things of the forest, plant and creature alike, Castiel is not immune to their effect. He wants to be claimed, wants to feel Dean’s hardness inside him, while waves of endorphins crash through him and Dean’s seed shoots deep inside. He wants to build a home around Dean while his mate rocks inside him; the smell of dirt and sweat are making Castiel wild, his cock rising under his thin slacks to meet Dean’s unsheathed shaft. He lifts his hips, legs still out of commission, limp and sagging where they lay parted beside Dean’s flanks, grinding his pelvis up and making an eager circle.

 

But Dean is still focused on his nipple, swirling his long pink tongue around the nub, encouraging it to peak and push out more and more until Castiel actually cries out in shock, shivering as Dean relieves him by moving on to his chest. The tongue moves across his chest and dips under his armpit, up to the dip of his collarbone, tasting every last bit of golden skin with determination until Cas is squirming, willing the touch lower, deeper.

 

Castiel hooks his fingers into the fur of Dean’s neck and pulls, rubbing and scratching just behind his ears in a way that makes Dean rumble with pleasure. The werewolf’s erogenous areas are different in his animal and human forms, but this one remains the same, and soon Dean is growling into Cas’s chest, the rumble echoing down his throat and against Cas’s stomach.

 

Finally Dean tears away with a bark of impatience, staring down at Cas while rocking pointedly into him with his hips. The nymph whimpers but doesn’t break the gaze, holding tight to the wolf’s shoulders, arching his back into each pump of the beast’s firm thighs.

 

Suddenly Dean lets out a growl and dives in to kiss Cas, jaw and tongue working awkwardly, swiveling to find the right angle so he’s licking across the seam of Cas’s lips, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Castiel loves this part of Dean, too, that tries his best with his awkward form, desperate to touch but not to harm. He opens his mouth and lets Dean’s tongue in, the flat heat of it licking at the insides of his cheeks and all the way back to his throat, as if trying to get as deep as possible.

 

“ _Mmm_ here,” Castiel moans when Dean pulls away, trailing his hand down to his groin, sweeping the palm over his clothed erection to give his lover a hint. Dean scrambles back on his haunches, desperately trying to get the slacks separating himself from Cas open with his teeth and failing, settling on licking him through the soft suede instead. Castiel's hands shake as he reaches down to undo the laces, numb fingers moving lazily and _stupidly_ slow through the strings, tugging helplessly while Dean licks his fingers, threading his tongue through the webs with violent strokes.

 

Finally, _finally_ his pants are off and Cas struggles to get out of them, lifting his back and tugging, but his useless legs mean he needs Dean’s help to get them the rest of the way, and the wolf obliges enthusiastically, gripping with his teeth and snarling as he pulls. Blessedly naked Castiel drops his knees out to the sides and Dean lunges in between his legs and drives his tongue right against Cas’s hole.

 

Castiel actually _yells_ and arches his back in shock, as the tongue swirls up around the base of his balls, flicking up the length of his cock and then retreating back to his hole. He gasps and stiffens while Dean shoves his muzzle between Cas’s cheeks, dropping a huge paw onto one thigh and pushing, parting Castiel’s legs further so he can eat him out. It’s clear Dean’s trying to get deeper inside but he just can’t with his long nose and wide, gnashing jaw, and he lets out a whine of frustration, banging his tail against the floor. He wants Cas, wants him _now_ , but doesn’t have the equipment to prepare him and the urgency-mixed-with-devotion makes Cas’s heart race until it feels like it’s beating right out of his chest.

 

Castiel slides his hand down and forces two fingers inside himself, groaning with the pain of the abrupt intrusion but he doesn’t stop,pushing the fingers slowly deeper, grunting at the dry, blunt feeling and suddenly wishing he could self-slick like a submissive werewolf, when suddenly Dean’s tongue is there again, winding around his fingers, wetting them and flicking over the sensitive skin of his hole.

 

Cas feels like he's burning up just with fingers and tongue, shaking in all the parts that he’s been touched by Dean, _Dean_ ; he can smell his own sweat and Dean’s scent and the warm hides he’s spread out atop of, his tip feathers trembling, wings outstretched to the far walls of the tent. He fights the shakes in his hand as he pulls his fingers up and ‘v’s them apart, holding himself open for Dean’s seeking tongue to dip inside.

 

There’s advantages to this tongue, it’s thin and floppy but it’s long and Dean curls in the sides and drives it against Cas’s prostate, nursing at the bulb in a way that makes Castiel cry and curl over with a jolt. He feels light-headed, the lot of his blood directed elsewhere, and he falls helplessly back against the floor, clinging to Dean’s shoulders for dear life as the wolf fucks him with his tongue. The touches are soft, swirling around his prostate and getting it sloppy-wet, and Dean seems like he’d be content to just stay there always, Cas laid out before him whining while Dean opens him up with his tongue, and Castiel wonders briefly on that possibility, of just lying here in the alpha wolf’s tent, legs spread, lavishing under the attention until he perished.

 

Cas lets his other hand wander to tangle in Dean’s hair, tugging gently at his pointed brown ears. The wolf whines and pulls his ears against his head, covering his weak spot, retaliating by shoving his tongue deeper, hard ivory of his front teeth nudging Cas’s rim and making him cry out.

 

It’s enough, though, Castiel can’t bear any more teasing and he knows Dean is ready, too, and so he coaxes the beast up off of his elbows and tugs him closer so that Dean can climb on top of him. He catches a glimpse of Dean's cock, unsheathed and red and bulging at the base with the start of a heavy, fat knot, just before Dean draws close to him and kisses him again.

 

Cas is shaking, clinging to Dean's broad shoulders, insides throbbing with want, eyeing Dean's cock, sturdy and full between his legs and he _wants_ , letting out a quavering breath–

 

"Inside..." Castiel just whispers softly, lifting his hips and that's all it takes for Dean to shove down, lower his rump to the floor so he can lever Cas's thighs up with his legs, and plunge into him in one thrust.

 

Castiel gasps and arches from the floor, hands scrambling for purchase on the hides as the hot-cold shock of penetration rises through him, fills his stomach. Everything goes black and he passes out for a moment, awakening with the next couple of cautious thrusts that drive Dean in yet deeper, feeling himself open up around the thick shaft with each movement.

 

He looks up and Dean is trembling, desperately holding himself back from lunging forward, and Castiel echoes the sentiment – if he weren't so exhausted by the healing he would doubtless rise up on all fours and shove himself onto Dean's dick, fuck himself on the wolf's dripping member until the knot breeched him and he was pumped full of so much come he felt like he would burst–

 

But there was no way for him to get up, and this position was going to be Hell on his back to lie in for the hour or so it took for Dean's knot to go down but he couldn't move, didn't dare move. Laid out on a bed of furs, evidence all around Castiel of the beautiful, strong man he’d taken as his mate, who would _never_ hurt him, who loves more truly than any creature Castiel has ever met in his long life. Castiel nods his assurance frantically, dropping his knees open wider to let Dean in.

 

Dean snarls and starts thrusting in earnest, driving deep into his mate with each thrust. Castiel cries, hands limp against the hides, whining and whispering nonsense as he's fucked by the wolf's massive cock.

 

He knows Dean isn't getting as deep as he wants, or as deep as he would be if he was allowed to mount his mate properly, so Castiel does what he can, lifting his hips and parting his legs, whining when that allows the cock surging up inside him to get deeper, reach him at a new angle. He lets out a sob as the hard shaft nudges his prostate, the angle allowing Dean to thrust up into him, lifting him from their makeshift bed with every thrust. He chokes back another cry and tilts his pelvis just so, holding himself on his hands, his legs splayed in the air helplessly over Dean's flanks, shaking with each push.

 

"Oh... _Dean...!_ " the nymph surges up as Dean starts hitting him against the spot he'd been tormenting with his tongue not long before, his prostate swollen and tender as Dean fucks it. Cas's scrambling legs kick unconsciously and fall loose from Dean's lap and the wolf lets out a growl of frustration, putting his front legs on either side of Castiel's narrow hips and _pulling_ _back_ , locking Castiel in place so he can seriously start _fucking_ him.

 

Castiel loses it, then, half-way between ecstatic with screaming pleasure and half-conscious from exertion, letting out a litany of filthy cries as he gets fucked, hips held in place so he has no choice but to take the beast’s furious thrusts. The sex is working every last one of his tired muscles, from his hands that twist vainly in the blankets over his head, to his toes that curl behind Dean's haunches, to his thighs that are locked in place, straining against Dean's slick, hard cock, slamming relentlessly in and out.

 

"That's it, _that’s it...oh_...!" Castiel gasps out, or at least thinks he does, for all the coherency he can manage he may have just been panting nonsense. He's gonna come untouched, the tongue on his nipples and in his hole working him halfway up, and the cock stretching out his insides taking him way past the rest of the way. He jumps in shock, back leaping from the ground as Dean's soft mane brushes against his naked cock when Dean stretches forward to kiss it, long, wet tongue swirling the head once and that's all it takes for Castiel to come, gasping and arching as come splurts from him, painting him all the way up to his throat.

 

But Dean keeps fucking him through it, Castiel gasping as he feels Dean's knot start to bump against his rim with each thrust, pushing deeper and deeper. He grits his teeth, pushing back and trying to will his body to take it, and with a few more forceful thrusts the huge, glorious knot is all in, Dean giving a few shallow rocks of his hips before coming, too, going stiff and growling out his orgasm, splashing come deep inside Cas's body, wave after wave, breeding him thoroughly.

 

Castiel is still, too exhausted to move as Dean gives a few last, slow, swirling thrusts, a few more splurts of seed spilling into his mate, the hefty knot locking it all inside. Cas’s eyes flutter closed as the waves of orgasm tumble through him, and cradled in his lover's lap, he passes out.

 

\--

 

Castiel wakes, finding himself on his side, undamaged wings spread out behind him and back cool and naked. His legs are still limp and now his hips are weak, too, but he has no intention of moving.

 

Dean is in front of him now, this time with a human face, watching him with sincere unabashed concern unbecoming of a powerful alpha, but utterly wondrous to Castiel.

 

"You okay?" comes the immediate question, the alpha ever dutiful, and Castiel blinks curiously at him in his half-awake.

 

“Yes, of course,” Castiel answers, putting out a hand to slide down Dean’s cheek. He continues the trail down his chest, finding cuts, bruises to heal. He breathes out and wills the scars to heal beneath his palm, the prickly-smooth heat of his magic flowing down his arm and seeping into Dean. It’s a minor effort for now, he’ll do more when he’s more alert.

 

Dean has his arms slightly around Castiel’s waist, hands wrapping his hips so the tips of his fingers just barely rest on Cas’s back, tentatively pulling him closer, like he’s afraid he’ll slip away in the early morning. It’s not an entirely unfounded concern, with Cas not being unknown to running off with little notice to return to his flock, but right now, Cas wouldn’t go even if he could. Especially with Dean like this, warm and sated beside him, Castiel wonders how he ever could’ve left. The tent could crash down with the calamity of an airborne fight, and Castiel might just remain lying here, in the afterglow of Dean’s love. He can feel the phantom throb of Dean’s knot still inside him and the memory makes his chest flood with pride, seed still dribbling slowly, gradually out across his thigh.

 

“I missed you,” Dean mumbles into Cas’s chest, and that about covers the sentiment.

 

“Missed you too,” Castiel echoes, softly letting his eyes drift shut.

 

“Don’t want you to go,” Dean continues like a petulant child, and Castiel marvels at how the man can go from tough, uncompromising leader to soft, attention-hungry lover in the space it takes to cross the threshold of his tent. He supposes he makes quite the picture himself, a decorated warrior in his own right, making his home in the trappings of an unfamiliar race like a captured bride. But he could care less for the way he looks.

 

“I’ll be with you,” Castiel answers. The marking pheromones and substantial amount of semen pumped inside him make sure of Dean’s claim on him, for one. “I’ll watch over you.”

 

Dean huffs a little in irritation. “Not like that.”

 

Castiel rolls his head a little, stretching out his neck, the enjoying the soft-scratchy sensation of furs on his skin. He knows what Dean wants, he wants a warm den and a mate too heavy with babies to even think about walking out on him. And not because he wants to limit Cas’s independence, but because he’s a worrier and can’t take someone he loves being out of his sight. Raising his own brother from a cub in the most dangerous of conditions, paranoid of danger at every turn, will do that to someone.

 

Castiel sighs softly, eyes still closed. "How about we just stay here for today?" he offers, and Dean shuffles closer, so his face is buried in Cas's chest, grumbling into his sternum. Dean has a problem with not knowing exactly where all of his pack is at every moment, and he is right to feel that concern, as most all of them have disappeared on him one time or another. So Castiel offers the only comfort he thinks he can.

 

"I won't leave you," Castiel assures, voice dreamy with sleep, but the sentiment is clear. "I love you."

 

Dean seems to settle down at that, curling his warm arm around Cas's back and pulling them closer. Castiel breathes in the scent of his lover, of the stuffy leathers surrounding him, and the cool fresh grass outside, and lets himself drift into sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore the idea of Dean and Cas as different species, learning to love each other despite the difficulties of compatibility, or perhaps because of them. That’s the focus of this verse.

 

When Cas enters the tent again, it’s not Dean he meets, but Sam. The taller alpha is reclined on a pile of furs and pillows in the sprawling shape of a couch, holding a book out from his nose and reading intently when Castiel comes in. He flicks Castiel a look over the top and returns quickly to reading, clearly absorbed in a particular passage he means to finish.

 

Both brothers are avid readers, eager to learn the mysteries of the world around them, but Dean’s attention was never as steadfast as Sam’s. Where Sam would finish a book in a week, Dean would read an hour or so a day, preoccupied with other distractions. Castiel was proud to be one of those distractions.

 

“How are you, Sam?” Castiel asks softly, as Sam closes the book and lays it down, offering Cas a barely with-it smile. His garb is loose and disheveled, like he tied it on with very little attention in the morning. His slacks are loose and the tunic doesn’t even have a belt or a scabbard.

 

“Good,” Sam answers, his eyes alight with a thoughtful sort of peace. “Dean is out for a walk with the baby.”

 

“‘The baby’?” Cas echoes. His ears perk up at the word. Maybe it’s just the instinctual reflex at hearing about his mate with a baby who isn’t his, but Castiel’s defenses are raised halfway up just at the thought—exactly how long has he been gone? A few months? Enough time to make a baby, probably. Maybe Dean finally bred a beta bitch like he was supposed to in the time Castiel had been away—

 

“ _Our_ baby,” Sam informs, “mine and Jess’s.”

 

“Oh.” Castiel lowers himself a little, half-ashamed for being so ill-informed. He owes this pack so much, to be so unknown to such important affairs is disquieting to him.

 

“How is Jess?” Castiel asks softly.

 

“Good. Tired,” Sam corrects, leaning into the pillows and sliding his hands behind his head. The scent of nutmeg and coffee wafts from him, foreign and exotic, warm.

 

Of course. Jess’s labour was long and bloody – werewolf babies are large and difficult, even for an omega as strong and persistent as her. Castiel tries to imagine the stress it would be to adjust his own body to accommodate a wolf’s pup – not that he has any intention to. Wood nymphs can mate with different species, the child born as either fully one species or the other. But Castiel is a warrior, not a caregiver, and as much as he’d love to bear Dean’s babies, it’s not something he's convinced he can do for Dean.

 

“Dean adores Alex,” Sam answers the unasked question contained in Cas’s furled brows, “he asked to take him out for a walk to go get supplies. It was a weight off our chests.”

 

Normally the alpha leader wouldn’t be the one to go for supplies, but Dean’s pack dynamic is quite different from the standard, traditional grouping. After their parents had died, Sam and Dean went out on their own and formed their own band, travelling as a duo of alphas for many years, accumulating other orphans and wayward pups after many years of being alone. There were six of them, now, and they shared duties among the whole group – Dean and Sam powerful alphas, Charlie and Kevin loyal betas, Jess an omega, often joined by Benny the sixth member of their group, although the alpha spent most of the time on his own.

 

Castiel took a seat cross-legged on a woven mat settled on the uneven ground of the tarp floor. The pack travelled and moved their camp often, nomadic and half-in danger all the time. An unconventional, not to mention small pack like Dean’s was always in danger of being attacked or taken over. Castiel couldn’t imagine it, having to grow up alone, fending for themselves in the brush with only each other to have as company. Castiel himself had grown up in the company of hundreds of brothers and sisters, wing to wing, heart to heart. His heart often ached horribly for home in the fairy realm, but he saw his brothers often in the sky, and Dean’s camp was as much his home as were the aurora-curtained skies his family made their home in.

 

An air of familiarity settles in as Castiel removes his scabbard and pack and lays them aside, enjoying the safety of Sam’s presence. Something about the alpha, if not only his colossal size, or the similarity of his scent to Dean’s, makes Castiel feel at ease to be in his company.

 

It’s just moments later when the tent door flaps open to reveal Dean in his human form, all height and golden skin, entering the tent with his usual honest swagger, bow legs knocking the door carelessly wide. He has the baby strapped to his chest in a sling, and a pack of supplies on his back.

 

Castiel watches from the floor as Sam approaches, cooing something meaningless as he hooks a finger in to peel the furry sling away from the baby’s face. The babe is sleeping with his nose pressed to Dean’s bare chest, dozing against the warmth of his uncle’s sturdy body, sighing and gurgling as the brothers watch him in silent awe.

 

And there, Castiel sees it. It’s not like he’s blind to it: his mate’s unparalleled adoration for young things. This is what he craves, a hungry mouth to feed, greedy little hands reaching out to him. Ever since Sam grew out of his care Dean has sought to fill his brother’s place with babies, pups, and little ones. Not that anything will ever replace Sam in Dean’s heart, but the man is grown and no longer needs to be fed and bathed and held.

 

Dean catches Castiel’s eyes briefly and then looks away, letting Sam unhook the pack from his back and then the one from his chest and bring the baby to his arms. The pup is big like his father, round-faced and bright-eyed, stirring as Sam lifts him, bundled, to his own shoulder. Dean strokes the baby’s face with a single finger one last time before sharing a goodbye with his brother.

 

“Take care of him for me, Cas,” Sam addresses Castiel as he exits the room, and if he squints, Cas thinks he can see the tall wolf’s tail wag energetically as he goes.

 

“Always,” Castiel assures, eyes soft on the alpha’s retreating form.

 

Castiel watches as Dean unfolds his pack, rolling the leather open on a table, revealing the stalks of cattail and mullen, soft thistle-heads and broad leaves of doc. A few fat bulbs of iris and garlic tumble across the table, clomping along in a low rumble towards the edge, joined by a few loose Saskatoon and dark salal berries. Dean’s hand sweeps out to catch them before they roll to the floor, pulling them all in close to his body and back atop the roll.

 

Castiel waits patiently until Dean finishes but the wolf never seems to complete his task, picking at berries and stems and examining them endlessly as though unable to put them down. Castiel finally pushes himself to his feet and walks over, eyes trained on Dean’s face, the wolf’s brow furled and tight with worry.

 

“Dean,” Cas says softly.

 

Dean doesn’t answer, focused on the bundle of herbs as though it’s the puzzle to his lifeline. There’s a tension in the air like the crackle that comes in the sky before a torrential rainstorm, a sort of untouched topic floating between them as they stand parallel in the tent. They’re not going to talk about this; they both know where the other stands already: Dean wants pups and Cas knows that’s not the life they can have. At least, not the life he can have with Castiel. They won’t fight today, Dean seems determined of that as he keeps his eyes locked on the bundle and his lips sealed shut so tight they go white and waxy.

 

“Dean, look at me,” Castiel prompts, sliding a palm around the alpha’s firm jaw.

 

Dean looks up, and the broken expression on his face nearly sets Castiel to ruin. He’s hurting, always hurting, whether from Castiel’s absence or over worry for his pack’s safety or some deep-ingrained sense of not being _good_ enough, not a “proper” alpha, not a good enough hunter, not a good enough mate. Castiel hates to see this in him, loves that Dean cares but not that he hurts because of it.

 

“I missed you,” Castiel just breathes and pulls Dean’s face close to his. His hand slides around the back of Dean’s neck and Castiel brings their foreheads together. Dean nuzzles his nose with a subtle whine, and Castiel closes his eyes and just breathes, feeling Dean do the same, his breath with the tiniest shudder in it, the muscles of his shoulders relaxing under Castiel’s fingertips.

 

They pull away after a long moment of just sharing air, and Castiel places a hand on Dean’s chest, over his heart, sliding it down the bare flesh to his abdomen. Castiel breathes out one last time, because he, the nymph, the nomad, the sky-monster, worries too, pines, too. He raises his head, looks the alpha in the eyes.

 

“Come outside with me,” Castiel says and tugs Dean’s hand into his, and pulls him outside of the tent.

 

They go outside into the camp. There are four tents, arranged in a square, hides hidden artfully under the low, drooping cedar balcony. The pack is never in one place for long, always on the go, on the run. Castiel sometimes watches them as they travel from place to place, stealthy in their beast forms but encumbered by the packs they carry, or tall and threatening in their human shapes.

 

Castiel sometimes scouts from above, but each wolf its own epitome of tact and skill, each of them a one-wolf pack in his or her own right, but very, very loving. They are as much a family as Castiel’s many siblings, but their bonds are different: they were made, not prescribed. This pack _chose_ each other, and created their own bonds of trust and family.

 

Outside, Castiel lets Dean speak, and only listens. He tells Cas how Sam is coping with the new addition, the little babe requiring constant attention, but fortunately the whole pack helps out. Charlie always has the best games; Kevin loves to carry the baby when he goes out to exercise, setting him on a soft bit of moss while he does his stretches. And little Alex sleeps the most soundly in Dean’s arms, or curled against his furry flank.

 

The baby won’t transform until he reaches puberty, when his alpha, beta or omega characteristics will manifest. He could grow into a sturdy alpha like his father, a clever omega like his mother, or even a loyal beta. So much of their lives are centered on chance – the chance of being born with a certain type of hormones, the chance of being caught by a rival pack; to Castiel, who lives in the skies, in control of all below, it is unfathomable. Long-lived and erudite, his people live lives of certainty and rule, justice and order. To imagine it any other way was difficult enough, and still is for those of his brothers and sisters who do not approve of his and Dean’s courtship.

 

Castiel and Dean walk shoulder to shoulder across the well-trodden path through the river clearing, Dean talking about Charlie’s new plots to make medicine from deer antlers like Gilda taught her. All she’s come up with so far is a potent-smelling powder so foul it’s thus far discouraged any of the pack from getting injured, lest risk having to ingest it. Dean shows it in the chuckle in his voice that he’s proud of her, his red-furred little sister.

 

As they walk carefully across a tangle of roots to the pebbly riverside, Dean talks about going fishing with Benny the previous week. He’s amazed by how the large alpha catches salmon with his bare teeth, and how he can stay so still in the water in his beast form, old in it, like a worn-in boot, so as to trick the fish into coming close enough to snatch up. Dean never had the patience for it, himself, he comments, impressed by his friend’s prowess.

 

Dean sells himself short. He is the strongest, smartest, most capable and adaptable beast Castiel has ever known in his long life in the forest, but the alpha truly thinks himself unworthy of the respect his clan shows him. He trails off quietly, commenting on occasion how the colour of the soil in a certain clearing indicates boar have been there, or that his father once taught him to spot where elves or orc had left their camps by the marks on the logs. Castiel hums along in acknowledgement, soothed by the cool, early afternoon sun coming across his shoulders in flecks of light, the rustle of Dean’s footfalls in the underbrush, and Dean’s low voice.

 

They walk a small distance to a clearing of birch and ash, young trees with smooth yellow and white trunks circling a bit of fresh underbrush. A few groundcovers populate the reaches of the grove, heather, wintergreen and salal, and in the center is fresh grass, bitten down by grazers so that it grows in thick, punctuated by a few white Dutch irises and blue flags.

 

Dean stops at the edge of the clearing, and Cas steps carefully right into the middle of it.  A few tiny crickets and gnats fly up out of the way of his intruding shins.

 

Dean stares, then, at Castiel, at his foreign lover, this creature to whom nature is not a threat, but an ally, loved and cherished as much as a family member. He who stands so comfortably and sure in the midst of all this _wild_ , known to animals and plants alike, lover of trees and insects and cats and lichens – while Dean hovers on the edge, alongside of the forest, but at odds with it.

 

“What are we doing here?” Dean asks, and Castiel approaches him. The nymph is barefoot and shirtless, a tunic draped open across his chest and bunched loosely at the waist. He puts a hand on Dean’s chest, over his heart, like he did earlier in the tent.

 

“This is who you are,” Castiel says, making his hand into a fist over Dean’s heart. A few crickets buzz contentedly in the gentle swell of afternoon humidity; far off birds and squirrels make themselves heard from high branches. “A protector. A guardian. A leader.”

 

Castiel steps back. His feet swish against the clovers, an Indian paintbrush swashes his calf with a dollop of orange pollen. He stands so he is in the middle of the clearing, and faces Dean head-on.

 

“And this is who I am,” Castiel says. He slips his tunic from its place on his shoulder, and lets it fall to his hips. Then he lets his wings materialize, unfurling the two great, shivering appendages from his back.

 

His wings part each in two large segments, pearly white feathers sprayed with shades of blue-green. The moving parts shifting like a machine’s, delicate like they could snap at the slightest touch, but actually strong as steel.

 

It’s not the first time he’s seen them, but the look of pure amazement and awe Dean has on his face is one Castiel will never tire of. While Dean stands there agape, eyes wide with wonder, Castiel stretches his arms up and raises them out to his sides.

 

“A warrior. A guardian of the woods. ” Castiel says softly, sincerely, “yours.”

 

Castiel can practically see the way Dean’s heart swells before he’s sweeping forward, wrapping Castiel up in his arms, sliding them around his back and sinking his fingers into the feathers. He grips the bunches of warm down, pulling like he’ll never let go, chanting a soft _“I missed you, I missed you so much Cas you don’t even know,”_ into the crook of the nymph’s shoulder.

 

Castiel hugs back, arms sliding gently around Dean’s shoulders, stroking his back gently, feeling warm flesh rather than smooth fur. They stand like that for what could be hours, and Cas realizes how much he wants to just stay there and _belong_.

 

They make love there, in the clearing, Castiel resting on his broad wings, Dean kneeling between his thighs, gently easing them apart, pressing into the insistent clench of Castiel’s body. They stare at one another, rocking slowly, carefully, like every movement is precious, smooth, precise, rising together, step by step, until reaching their peaks together, and collapsing into each other, sated and happy.

 

 

 

Castiel wakes up nose-to-nose with a viola that’s dipped low to greet him, its melancholy purple face tilted, touched with dew. He’s significantly sorer than when he went to sleep, but happily sated, pressed into the grass by Dean’s big arm, thrust out over his shoulder. He carefully removes the arm and slinks out of Dean’s space, leaving the wolf to doze contentedly on the bed of mosses, only slightly smothered by their intrusion, the grasses only slightly crooked, mosses squished but not permanently damaged.

 

He goes down to the river a little ways away, stepping nude into the cold water, having left his clothing with Dean. He drops in quickly so as not to allow his body to shy away from the cool temperature, letting out a quick breath as he sinks up to his chest, crouched on a rock.

 

He rests, bathing, slowly parting the water with both hands. His body feels warmer than usual, lit up from the inside, and in a sudden moment of insight, he rubs a hand over his belly. The spark of life he feels inside is unmistakeable. He’s pregnant.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me on this ride! It was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoyed being the world I created for Dean and Cas.

Castiel’s body responds to the pregnancy well, if his mind has a bit of trouble catching up. He’s healthy, in his fourth month, but he doesn’t take to the extra weight with much positivity. He misses his warrior’s physique, his flat stomach – especially the way Dean _adored_ his flat stomach, sucked at the sharp ridges of his hipbones, kissed happy trails down from his navel. He wants to be with Dean like they used to, wild and free and flexible – and boy, was Castiel _flexible_ : he used to be able to contort himself into positions he worries he may never be able to get into again.

 

Dean is taking the whole thing well, balancing just the right amount of “pleased” and “incredibly stressed” that an expectant father should be feeling. He seemed pretty happy to hear the news – _eventually_ ; the first time Castiel broke the news Dean must’ve thought the nymph was joking because he merely stared at him, after long moments finally uttering an “o…kay…” before dashing out of the tent they were seated in. After coming back around hours later he’d simply stood there in front of Castiel, until the nymph finally took his hand and put it to his own stomach, holding it there until Dean got the message. He was pregnant. They were going to have a baby.

 

One advantage to Castiel’s overly hormone-ridden pregnant body is the fact that he is spectacularly horny almost all the time. Dean is affected too, his alpha’s sense of protectiveness cracking through all the more powerfully in the past few months. Castiel had tried for the first couple of months of his pregnancy to continue his missions with the garrison as usual, sweeping the high-noon skies on starry-white wings, overseeing the order of the forest and its inhabitants – but after some time he’d found himself being overcome with bouts of delirious need, clutching his tunic tight and clenching his teeth around a moan. The bouts became more and more frequent until now, in his fifth month they’re near unbearable, such that he can hardly breathe by the time he gets to Dean’s camp on the edge of the river.

 

Castiel crashes to the forest floor, making a few brief apologies to the plants he crushes in his haste to get to Dean’s camp, finding his partner rushing into the clearing at the exact same moment he arrives. Dean looks feral, face and exposed neck flushed red, fists clenched as he stomps towards Cas, affixing him with the most intense stare, Castiel can barely breathe.

 

“Inside. Now,” Dean grits out, and Castiel doesn’t even stop to greet him, rushing into Dean’s tent. The wolf looks back over his shoulder for anyone who might be around, then goes into the tent, slamming the heavy leather flap behind him.

 

Castiel falls to his knees on the floor, hastily removing his armour and boots, struggling with his belt and tunic. Dean mirrors him for a moment, pulling halfway out of his pants before abandoning the task and lunging forward to capture Cas around the waist, pulling the nymph’s body flush against him.

 

Castiel groans, subconsciously bucking his hips back into Dean’s erection, as it slides up into the cleft of his ass. He takes Dean’s hands around his waist and guides them down over his swollen stomach, so they settle just under the firm bulge, cradling him and his offspring together.

 

“Inside me, now,” Castiel pants out, and Dean lets out a ferocious growl, pushing his hands down so they clutch Castiel’s hip bones. He teethes softly at Castiel’s neck before delivering one sharp nip that shocks Castiel and makes him shudder.

 

“ _Please,_ ” Castiel tries again, voice a soft whisper despite the roaring _need_ inside him. He bends over, carefully, pulling out of Dean’s vice-grip around his hips and arches his back, presenting himself like an omega in heat, ready to be mounted. He grinds against Dean, circling his hips once against Dean’s cock, desperately trying to prompt the werewolf to move, thrust, push, _anything_ , just _pound_ into him like he so needs.

 

Dean groans and bends over Castiel, spreading himself along the length of the nymph’s back, biting anxiously at his shoulders. Castiel can tell that his mate is holding himself back, scared of hurting Castiel, of pushing too fast and too hard, of injuring the progeny growing in the fairy’s belly. Castiel finds Dean’s hand clenched tightly in the bedclothes beneath them and soothes it free, lifts it to land gently on his stomach, Dean’s large hand nearly covering the entirety of the small bulge.

 

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” Castiel whispers, “I want to feel you inside me. Please, Dean.”

 

Dean’s breath turns to panting as he strikes out a hand to feel around his discarded clothes and pack for something to use as lube. He finds a tub of grease for softening hides and scoops a generous portion onto his fingers, sliding it down between Castiel’s ass cheeks as he works his pants down over his thighs. The heat of his mate’s body warms and melts the grease and Castiel moans at the sensation of the warmth seeping down his thighs as he’s reminded of feeling Dean’s come leak out of his ass when it’s stuffed full of Dean’s knot.

 

“Fill me,” Castiel breathes as he feels Dean’s finger slide inside him, crooking and searching out his sensitive spot. Castiel moans in protest of not getting what he wants, bearing the second and third finger that enter him, biting down desperately on his bottom lip to keep from spilling then and there. Suddenly, the fingers are withdrawn and Castiel waits for what comes next, bracing himself on his hands and knees on the carpet.

 

Dean grunts and settles a hand over Castiel’s hip to hold him still, the other hand greasing his thick cock. He nudges the head against Castiel’s hole before pushing forward, watching the rim stretch over the head of his cock and give way, as he slides in just to the crown.

 

“Inside me!” Castiel cries out, arching his back and moaning like he’s in full heat. The hormones must be altering his very biology because he feels like he imagines a wanton omega must feel, desperate for seed and uncaring who he gets it from. Dean shifts and his cock slips deeper inside, too slow, and Castiel pushes back, sinking it in the rest of the way.

 

Castiel and Dean exchange twin groans as Dean bottoms out inside his lover, wincing through a full-body shudder that travels from his neck to his trembling toes. Castiel throws back his head and starts pumping his hips in earnest, fucking himself on Dean’s cock, until his mate gets the idea and begins to move in contrast to him.

 

They rock together, hips working harder and harder, flesh slapping flesh, the sounds coming faster and faster as they climb towards completion together. Dean grabs Castiel’s hips, locking his hands around each wing of bone and holds Cas still while he slams in even harder. Castiel moans, crying out, uttering every word that comes to mind, a shaky stream of _mine, all mine, my mate, my love, I love you, I love you I loveyouIloveyouIloveyou—_

 

Castiel cries out and arches his back sharply as he comes, reaching out for Dean’s hand on his hip and clasping it tightly. Dean slams in a last few times, forearms trembling with the force of his thrusts, wrists locking and fingers clenching around Cas’s hips when he releases, going stiff and curling over, starlight bursting behind his eyes.

 

Dean stays just coherent enough not to fall forward as Cas pulls away from him and flops down onto his side, running his hand up and down his belly, fingers trailing from the gathering of dark hair low on his abdomen and up to his ribs, passing across the small, round lump in between. Dean carefully lowers himself down to lay behind Cas, pressing gently into his back, dropping an arm around his waist, fingertips brushing softly at the firm bump.

 

“Oh my god, Cas,” Dean says breathlessly, and Castiel sighs softly in agreement.

 

“I know,” Castiel murmurs softly, drifting slowly into sleep, where he dreams of flying, joining Dean on a hunt by soaring high above him, protecting him from afar.

 

 

 

His pregnancy progresses smoothly for the next six months, with only a few minor, but not dangerous discomforts afflicting Castiel. Though he doesn’t complain to anyone but his mate, it becomes clear to everyone, his clan and Dean’s family alike, that the nymph is becoming steadily more exhausted and more frustrated with the changes in his physique and impulses.

 

His tastes have changed, the food he once enjoyed doesn’t sit well with him and despite being otherwise healthy he feels consistently nauseous, every morning and evening, like clockwork. By the end of the last month Castiel can’t even fly, grounded by the extra weight of his body throwing off his balance so much he can’t stay airborne any more than a few feet off the ground.

 

It makes going back to his clan impossible, which means more time with Dean, which Castiel knows suits the wolf just fine. Having a mate who needed to stay by his side always, who needed his attention, was what Dean really wanted – yet the wolf is more stressed than pleased by the circumstance. Seeing Castiel so helpless, it turns out, is less reassuring and infinitely more nerve-wracking. Seeing a fairy so weakened is a bad omen, and the fact that that fairy is his beloved mate makes it all the more tense. Dean stalks the camp back and forth several times a day, by the end of the pregnancy, unsure what to do with himself or how to protect his family from an internal threat.

 

Castiel tries to stay positive but unfortunately he is not a positive creature by nature, and Dean is more a worrier than anything else. He takes care of Castiel through everything, tending him when he feels tired, bringing him food, preparing his clothes for him despite Castiel’s protests that he can do it himself. But the moment he is able to get away, Dean keeps to himself, tracing the surrounding woods in great, wide arcs, nearing the outskirts of the pack’s territory.

 

For the most part, Castiel simply wants this pregnancy to end, so that the anxiousness can stop and he and Dean can be free to be lovers again.

 

Labour hits Castiel suddenly, and he doubles over one day while walking around camp. Dean and Sam get him quickly to a bed of leather and furs, letting him lie back while his body wracks with shuddering contractions, preparing him to welcome his baby into the world.

 

Hours pass, Dean and Sam and Jess going back and forth for water and food to comfort Castiel, when suddenly things turn dark as Dean enters the tent to find Castiel half-off the bed, clutching the edge in a white-knuckle grip while sweat streams from his forehead.

 

“S-something’s wrong,” Castiel pants out, gripping the furs with one hand and holding his swollen belly with the other, “c-call my brothers.”

 

Dean sprints off into the woods without a word to anyone, never so panicked since the time a very small Sam was injured in a fight with another wolf. It isn’t too difficult to contact Castiel’s siblings: he runs into the middle of the clearing where Cas’s clan often nests and calls out to the skies for them in their language, voice so loud it cracks through the trees and sends birds scattering in concern.

 

Two of the winged men arrive in the clearing and the three of them dash back to camp, Dean’s meagre explanation enough to set the two of Cas’s brothers into fight-or-flight mode. Their wing beats are so intense it’s all Dean can do to step out of their way as they rush back to camp, Dean in his beast form so he can sprint across the underbrush unhindered.

 

When they arrive back at camp the brothers rush inside the tent to see Castiel, who is now panting and moaning loud enough to be heard outside the walls of the tent. Charlie and Kevin look sympathetically in the direction of the tent but try their best to stay out of the way. The larger of Castiel’s two brothers, a nymph nearly as tall as Dean but with a trim and lithe figure slaps the flap of the tent door open and steps out, his smaller brother, a blond man wearing a scowl, following.

 

Dean makes a move to go into the tent immediately, only to find the smaller brother’s arm suddenly smacked down between him and the door.

 

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. You’re not going in there,” the smaller brother, Gabriel, orders incredulously, shooting Dean a livid glare.

 

Dean had never got along with Gabriel; Castiel said it was because their senses of humour were too similar, Dean said it was because he was a little creep who you never knew whose side he was on.

 

“What’s your problem?!” Dean all but shouts as Gabriel jabs sharply at his chest. The nymph, though smaller in size is incredibly strong, especially as anxious as he is now, feathers ruffling agitatedly the way Castiel’s do sometimes.

 

“My _problem_ ,” Gabriel says through grit teeth, “is that my baby brother is in a lot of pain, and have to see him in there like that, and then come out here and look in the eye of the _guy who did it to him_!”

 

Gabriel’s wings spread out, and Dean is intimidated, in that second his natural instincts to protect the father of his unborn child are overruled by the nymph’s terrifying form. He takes a step back.

 

“Imagine it was your little brother, huh?” Gabriel grits out, calmer, wings retreating before disappearing out of sight entirely. He keeps a hand on Dean’s chest, holding him back a while longer, before turning and going into the tent, letting the door fall closed behind him.

 

Dean stands still, struck by the image of Sam, ill or hurting for any reason, and he suddenly sympathizes with Gabriel more than he would like to admit. He stays obediently outside the tent, knowing one of Cas’s own probably knows how to help him better than his mate could right now.

 

The older of Castiel’s brothers is still outside, and his tall frame slips into Dean’s space, intrusive, like all of Castiel’s siblings, but considerably more calm.

 

“You don’t know about Castiel, do you,” the larger brother, Balthazar says gently, more of a realization than a question, raising his gaze to Dean’s fiery green one. “About his past.”

 

Dean looks Balthazar in the eye, trying his best to concentrate on the words while he can hear Castiel groaning in pain on the other side of the fur wall.

 

“He was mated once, before you,” Balthazar explains softly, sympathetic, unlike his usual sarcastic tone. “Arranged marriage. Back when our kind practiced such archaic modes of coupling.”

 

Dean cocks his head in confusion. He’d never heard about Cas having anyone before him. The story must be painful enough that Castiel never felt the desire to relay it.

 

“He was mated to a fellow sky fairy. A good warrior, cold, but not rough, as I understand,” Balthazar continues, “but Cassie was never in love. To him, it felt like being tied down. He just seemed to be waiting for it to end. And when he lost the baby I think that was the final straw for him.”

 

Dean’s jaw snaps shut. “What do you mean, ‘lost the baby’?”

 

Balthazar tilts his head, eyes sympathetic. If Dean wasn’t so horrified, his blood pumping at about four times its normal speed, barely-repressed alpha instincts blaring in his ears, he might better appreciate the consideration.

 

“He had a miscarriage. It was tragic, but I think Castiel was actually relieved,” the nymph says, “he broke off the marriage soon after. It lost him a bit of credibility in our ranks. Cassie didn’t care, of course. He wanted out, anyway. It gave him an excuse.”

 

Dean’s jaw tightened until he realized he was clenching it so hard it creaked. “Why are you telling me this?” His gaze rose threateningly towards Balthazar, as if to dare the nymph to mislead him, but the nymph, of course, did not seem fazed in the slightest. Like holding a staring contest with Cas – it was like facing down a thousand-year old tree.

 

“I want you to understand, I suppose, how difficult this is for him. Castiel has already failed once at becoming a father, it’s incredibly hard for him to try again.” Balthazar sighs and watches as Dean diminishes, eyes falling to the forest carpet. Casting one last look in Dean’s direction, Balthazar lifts open the tent flap and slips inside.

 

Dean stares at the ground. The realization that his mate had someone before him without his notice should be humiliating to his alpha instincts, but Dean just feels miserable. He just wants to sweep Cas up in his arms and hold him close, tell him how incredible and loved he is, how honest and full Dean’s love is for him. But he’s trapped helpless on the other side of a thin tent-flap, while his mate writhes in agony on the other side.

 

For a long time there’s no noise on the other side of the tent save for the muttering of Cas’s brothers, and Dean knows Cas is putting on a brave face, fighting back his cries for as long as he can. Dean has no idea what he’s going through – his latest experience with childbearing was with Jess just a few weeks ago, and that was a bloody affair, though the omega was resilient as any Dean had ever seen. And Castiel was strong. He would persevere. Still, the cold shudder that ran up Dean’s spine was no comfort.

 

The afternoon drags on for hours, time drawing long with the setting of the sun, the rusty orange glow spreading across the sky like maple sap. For the last hour, Castiel’s groans and grunts of pain have become nearly unbearable for Dean to hear, but he stays at his post outside of the tent, prowling the perimeter with a cautious vigilance. His limbs tremble with every new cry that bursts out from the tent.

 

Finally, out of the tent there comes a deep, whining cry, rising up to a sharp, victorious climax, then melting into something that sounds like relief, a soft gasp and sweet, high-pitched panting, falling then to quiet cut only by thick, heavy breathing – Castiel’s, and Dean’s.

 

 

 

Castiel can barely raise his head, much less the rest of his aching body when he sees the tent door part and Dean enter, cautiously slipping inside, trying to make the least amount of noise possible. Castiel is glad to watch him, eyes tracking the man’s strides as he surveys the large space, eyes gliding across Castiel’s reclined form, and then settling on the pile of furs in the opposite corner, where the baby is perched.

 

The air is close and smells of sweat and blood, but it’s a pleasant kind of stuffy heat, comforting, like burrowing into Dean’s fur after the wolf finishes a strenuous hunt. Castiel draws in a deep breath and lets it out, catching Dean’s attention.

 

“She’s yours, by the way,” Castiel tries for humour, voice coming out dehydrated and exhausted. The joke seems to land, anyway, as Dean shakes his head incredulously, eyes still wide and unblinking with wonder as he peers down over the baby perched upon the pile of furs.

 

Castiel can’t help but feel the pang of anxiousness that clenches in his chest and sours his mouth when he sees Dean’s gaze turn on the baby. The more jealous he feels of the way the newborn creature captures Dean’s attention, the more shameful he feels, and the more miserable. He shouldn’t envy his child – and it’s not envy, but fear: he remembers what it’s like to be wanted only as a vessel to produce offspring, a means to an end, a nameless shell. That was many centuries ago but still the memory lingers and Castiel can’t help but bite down on his lip to suppress his tears.

 

For a moment, Castiel closes his eyes, unwilling to face his worst fears: that Dean might abandon him now that the baby’s here, or worse, that there’s something unsatisfactory about the baby that he produced, and Dean will spurn him for it. It’s irrational and Castiel blames the post-partum hormones even his rapidly-healing body can’t keep up with, but he ducks his head into the heady embrace of his bed furs and closes his eyes tight.

 

Castiel feels lips on his forehead and blinks to Dean leaning over him, eyes brimming with adoration, and no less of the respect and awe Castiel sensed in him before his labour.

 

“You’re incredible,” Dean whispers between planting kisses alongside the soothing brush of open fingers across Castiel’s temple, nuzzling gently at the hair that curls behind Cas’s ears with the tip of his nose. He pulls away to take two confident strides across the room to where the baby sleeps, squatting down to lift her out of her nest and into his arms.

 

The baby is tiny in Dean’s wide, freckled hands, reaching just barely from his elbow to the tips of his fingers that gently sweep the feather-soft dusting of hair on her crown. He lifts her proudly from her bed and brings her back to Cas, careful not to wake her but excited to see her with eyes open and voice mewling.

 

“Have you held her?” Dean asks, carrying the babe towards Castiel’s resting form, and the fairy tries in vain to sit himself up.

 

“I can barely move my arms,” Castiel admonishes, lifting them as if in demonstration and then dropping them loosely into his lap. Dean will suffer none of his hesitation or modesty today, and he places the baby squarely down in Castiel’s arms that are folded across his deflated stomach. Castiel sits up the best he can and takes the baby in his arms, sliding one hand around her back and the other hand beneath her head so that he can look at her face.

 

Even with his brothers’ judicious application of cooling lotion to her lips and swollen eyelids, his daughter looks like Dean, with long lashes framing an upturned nose, bouncy cheekbones and a full upper lip. She’s a wolf, and she’ll grow into an alpha, beta or omega to make her father proud.

 

Castiel feels like he’s never been so proud, already. Instantly the baby stops being his burden and becomes a gift, a treasure. His and Dean’s; their blessing.

 


End file.
